Forget The Past
by Victoria2
Summary: There was a time when she wasn’t afraid. When she wasn’t tense and watchful and nervous. When she was free. That had changed." Sara's horrifying past comes back to haunt her. A GS pairing.
1. Prologue

Title: Forget The Past

Author: Victoria

Rating: PG-13 to be safe

Summary: "There was a time when she wasn't afraid. When she wasn't tense and watchful and nervous. When she was free. That had changed." Sara's horrifying past comes back to haunt her. A G/S pairing.

Feedback: Is, as ever, much appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters – I wish I did! I'd have so much fun… (and so would they!)

Author's Note: My first C.S.I fic, hope you like!

There was a time when she wasn't afraid. When she wasn't tense and watchful and nervous. When she was free. That had changed, and sometimes it felt like she'd spent so many years being afraid that she had forgotten how not to be. But then there would be a moment, He would say something to her (He was always a part of these moments), maybe even just smile over the top of his steel-rimmed glasses, the briefest of moments when she let herself forget the fear and just _be_.

It wasn't an overpowering terror that pervaded her life, she could walk and talk and function. Even laugh. But the feeling was always there in the pit of her stomach. That she'd never be safe again.

There was nothing she could do about it of course. She couldn't pretend like it never happened – especially in her line of work. No, there were reminders everywhere. So instead she had three locks on her door. She knew how to fire her weapon. Sometimes she drank. And she didn't let people in.

It was better that way.


	2. Chapter 1

The alarm went off and Sara managed a muffled groan from under the blue quilt. Reaching out her long arm, pale digits fumbled to find the off switch. The fight to turn off the annoyingly loud beeping was part of her daily routine, a precursor to a run, shower and scrambled eggs. She liked routine – it kept her methodical mind happy.

Today though, she must have spent too long pounding the streets, searched too long for her shampoo, loitered over the paper at breakfast. She was running late for her shift. Marvelling at her ability to always _almost_ arrive late, whether she was working days, nights or swing (she always ran late but always seemed to get where she was going just in time), Sara grabbed her jacket and that mornings unopened mail before heading out the door to another night of blood, sinew and bone.

So she made it as usual to the lab (with a slight detour to the coffee vendor on the street outside) with minutes to spare. A small smile played upon her lips as she imagined her colleague's shock if they knew that she, Sara Sidle, C.S.I. extraordinaire, struggled to adhere to shift starts. Shift ends, of course, she had no problem with. Doubles, triples, she could pull them with her eyes closed. She didn't do this job for the money or glamour (quite obviously). No, she did it because she loved it. Loved that she could help people. That when the evidence spoke to her, she was one step closer to watching justice be done. She loved the way she could lose herself in her work, loved the lab with its clean lines and ordered routines, loved the people…

There – that was the dangerous thought, the one she struggled to conceal. But how could she sublimate feelings so strong – not from the others, but from herself. Because letting people in was not something Sara did, at least, not any more. She wasn't going to make herself vulnerable. Not again.

Leaving her jacket in her locker, Sara carried her mail and Styrofoam cup of coffee through the catacombs of corridors that _were_ the Las Vegas C.S.I. building to the briefing room where most of her colleagues were already settled.

Leaning back into her chair, Sara looked around her and wondered what life would have been like if Grissom hadn't asked her to join his line-up, if shed never left San Francisco. She had liked her life there, had been part of a team, but here in Las Vegas she had to admit she felt more like part of a family. The intimacy this suggested scared her a little, but over the last three years the people around her had become part of her life. She hadn't let them in, but she didn't need to, because they let _her_ in. Catherine, so strong and vibrant, a mother to Lindsay but also somehow to Sara herself, backing her up, always there but never intruding. Nick and Warrick like brothers she never had. They played off each other, teasing and joking but always that undercurrent of friendly competition.

A door opening made her look up, and Gil Grissom walked into the room. For such a large man he made very little noise – light on his feet, as it were. Often he would appear behind her, apparently from nowhere. A soft voice too, no matter what thought it expressed. Sara watched him quietly. If Catherine were a mother, Warrick and Nick brothers, then that left the father position open for a certain male authority figure, and that brought up _way_ too many Oedipal issues for Sara to deal with so soon after breakfast.

Instead, she watched as Grissom shuffled the case files in his hands and around her the chatter stopped.

"Ok. Catherine, Warrick, apparent body dump in the desert. Nick and Sara, you're with me. Kidnapping." Handing the teams their respective assignments he stood back and watched them. Catherine met his gaze with an arched eyebrow.

"Gee Grissom, monosyllabic much?"

This raised a smile form the other C.S.I.'s, Nick especially enjoying his superiors scolding. Grissom, however, remained impassive for a moment before returning Catherine's arched brow with a tilt of his head.

"Forgive my reticence," he began in mock apology, "but I just spent four hours meeting with senior members of the LVPD. The agenda? Good press, and how to get it."

Sara looked up.

"Sounds… fun." She smirked. With a wistful shake of his head he continued.

"We're coming at it from opposing angles. They look at a case and see a public relations success or disaster. I see evidence. And evidence isn't about 'good' press or 'bad' press." He stared at Sara and sighed. "Or about _fun_. It's about the truth. If I taught you anything, I hope it would be that."

With that mild admonishment he smiled and so did she, and Sara could have sworn she saw something other than a mentor's respect in his warm blue eyes and that he held his gaze for just a moment longer than was necessary, but she didn't allow herself to because she knew wishful thinking when she thought it.

Then, without another word, he turned and left, leaving the rest of the team with amused, if slightly bemused, expressions. They looked at one another for a moment, Sara feeling a slight redness in her cheeks. Catherine broke the silence.

"Oh, you know how much he hates the politics of this. Anyway, we have cases to crack." With a wry smile she rose and Warrick followed as the willowy blonde headed out into the hall.


	3. Chapter 2

Stepping out of the SUV, Sara was struck by a chilling quiver up her spine. She hated these cases - the abductions. It was the waiting that got to her – for the body, that is. Dead or alive, when the girl turned up, Sara could see the hell that they had experienced strewn across their faces. The pain and degradation and humiliation they had been put through etched into their expressions, in the lines across the forehead and into the very eyes themselves. A desperate sadness imprinted there that would never leave. In the pit or her stomach she felt a sharp pain, a reminder. Her long fingers traced the spot through her black vest until she realised what she was doing and hurriedly pulled them away.

Across the grey asphalt uniforms surrounded a blue estate car. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered at the edge of the parking lot, each pair of hungry eyes trained on the scene before them. Some took photographs of the driver's door, still lying open, of the tan purse on the ground beside it, of the keys and lipsticks and other feminine detritus strewn around it. Like vultures to a corpse, the resident of Las Vegas loved a show. Especially if there was a pretty girl involved.

Sara fell into step with Grissom and Nick as they headed toward the stout figure of Jim Brass. The detective looked tired, dark circles beginning to form under his eyes. 'Another government employee with no life outside the job', Sara noted wryly. 'We just never know when to go home. Perhaps because we have no home to go to…'

Taking long strides toward the familiar yellow crime scene tape, Sara looked up into the night. The lights from the Strip obliterated most of the starlight, but here on the outskirts of town she could see the occasional twinkle. No matter what tragedy unfolded, what devastation, what destruction, those stars just kept on shining. Sara didn't know whether to take comfort in the insignificance of her life in the grand scale of the cosmos, or be troubled by it.

"Have you ID'd the vic yet?" Nick asked, breaking Sara's train of thought. Brass flicked through his notepad.

"Car's registered to a Kady Robeson, student over at the community college. Last seen by her roommate this afternoon around 3pm."

"Any witnesses?" Grissom asked.

"No, local PD are canvassing, but it's a deserted parking lot. Not that many people."

"What was she doing here?"

"Who knows?"

"How old was she?" Sara interrupted. Brass looked down again.

"Twenty."

"What was she studying?" she continued. The three men stared at her. Grissom tilted his head.

"Do you think that's pertinent to the case?" Sara met his gaze, a sadness in her eyes that startled him.

"No… I just thought that I should know."

He shot her a questioning look, and her sadness turned to frustration.

"I mean, we all know how this is going to turn out."

"Not necessarily," he countered.

"A young woman, abducted at knifepoint, no ransom request. She's going to turn up in a body bag."

The three men stared at her, shocked at her outburst. Grissom was the one to break the awkward silence.

"Sara, go wait in the car."

She flushed.

"Grissom, I," he cut her off with a sharp look before addressing Brass.

"Has anyone touched the vehicle…?" His voice grew quiet as he led the other two away. Sara bit her lip and headed back to the SUV, hands trembling.

How could she have been so careless? To let her emotions run free, to react. She knew the job, and she knew what was expected of her – demanded of her. But here, and now, she had allowed herself to forget, to let personal feelings take precedence over her professionalism. It shamed her.

The driver's door opened and Grissom slipped in, closing the door behind him. The flashing lights of the police cars reflected in the windshield, the glass becoming a kaleidoscope of colour. They sat staring at the scene before them, neither acknowledging the others presence. Sara spoke first.

"Grissom, I'm sorry. That was unprofessional."

"Yes, it was."

She blinked. Another awkward silence.

"I don't know what else you want me to say."

"That's because_ I _don't know what I want you to say. Id like you to tell me that it won't happen again, but I know it will. Until you can control your… feelings, you're never going to live up to your potential as a C.S.I… You have so much ambition, Sara. So much promise. I just don't understand." He turned to face her. "Unless there's something I should know?"

"I don't know what you mean." It was her poker face, blank, unemotional. It gave away none of the turbulence beneath, within.

"Accidents of the most gruesome calibre, suicides of every persuasion, murder – be it bloody or clinical - and you don't bat an eyelid. But cases like this –".

As he spoke she pursed her lips, an effort to stop the words pouring out the truth, her heart forbidding her heart from revealing itself. The burden she carried was heavy and she longed to be able to share it, offload the pain and hurt and hate that had curled itself around her. But she didn't. Because as relieved as she'd feel to tell now, to explain herself, tomorrow the world would be different – her whole life would be different. It was the secret she had to keep, even if it was killing her.

"I don't know what you mean," she repeated and reached for the door handle, longing to escape the claustrophobic atmosphere and Grissom's questions. Because she could lie to the world, to her friends, to herself even. But not to him.

He reached out his arm and grabbed her just below her elbow.

"Why did you say she was abducted at knifepoint?"

Sara turned back, her wide eyes filled for a moment with confusion, as much form Grissom's touch as his question.

"Pardon?" Suddenly her throat was dry and she felt beads of sweat prickle at her forehead.

"We have no evidence that the victim was abducted at knifepoint. Why would you say that?"

There was something in his voice, in the tone, that frightened Sara. Not menace or intimidation, but an understanding. And the realisation that Grissom might have uncovered her truth was more threatening than any promise of violence.

"I guess I was confused. I was thinking of the Werner case last year."

"That case is closed Sara. We got a conviction. Its not the same guy."

"Well, I guess I was just confused then."

The windows had begun to steam up as the interior temperature of the vehicle rose above that of the outside. It was as if the rest of the world had disappeared, that there was only the two of them.

He was leaning closer to her now, his hand still on her arm. His stare transfixed her, electric, and in the quiet Sara felt her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath.

"Are you confused now?" His voice, so soft and tender, whispered in her ear. He was so near she could feel his breath on her neck, heavy and warm. Unconsciously she licked her lips and they parted, plump and inviting.

"I," she began. She lurched as the door was pulled open from the outside, and immediately she felt the cold lonely spot on her arm where Grissom's hand had been but moments earlier. Nick Stokes peered in at them, his expression pensive, brows knotted together.

"Sorry to interrupt," they glared defensively at Nick but he didn't notice, "but the local PD just called. Looks like they found our vic's body."


End file.
